


I've Been Dying To Tell You

by Pterodactyl



Series: Bowling Alley 'Verse [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 17:08:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4271220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pterodactyl/pseuds/Pterodactyl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Next-door-neighbours!Klaine with Blaine working at a bowling alley, for superanderbros :) hope you enjoy, bb! Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year :D</p>
            </blockquote>





	I've Been Dying To Tell You

“Kiss my ass, Hudson!”

Blaine sighs longingly as Kurt hurls another snowball at his much-less-attractive brother, cackling when it hits him in the face. Slumping against the windowsill, he plucks at the itchy polyester of his uniform and wishes that he were slightly less pathetic.

“Hey, Bubbles,” Chandler pokes his head around Blaine’s door, “You coming or what?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Blaine pouts and presses his face a little closer to the window as Kurt does an adorable little fist-pump and kicks a spray of snow up into the air.

“Blaine, the bowling alley is not going to come to us,” a fluffy toy hits him in the back of the head, “Get yo’ cute ass up and outta here.”

Blaine sighs again. “Chandler, he’s so perfect.”

“Okay,” Chandler stomps over, “Let’s see –  _whoa_.”

Blaine groans. “Why can’t we be boyfriends?”

“Because he doesn’t know you!” Chandler kicks his foot up, “Hey, look at my new boots. They’re pretty great, right?”

“Sure,” Blaine props his chin on his hands, “If he just looked at me. Just once…”

“Okay, this is pathetic,” Chandler grabs him by the shoulders and yanks him back, “We’re going to work and that’s final. You need to stop pining over this guy, Blaine!”

Blaine sighs as he puts his shoes on and follows Chandler out to his car, turning to look longingly at the Hudson-Hummel house as the engine rumbles to life.

He’s been Kurt’s next-door neighbour for just over three years, and he’s spent at least two of those years hopelessly in love with someone he’s spoken to about four times. After he’d been attacked for the fourth time at Westerville High within about three months of joining the school his mother had put her foot down and moved them to Lima and Blaine to Dalton.

He’s seen Kurt grow up from a vaguely insecure-looking boy into a man, seen him gain friends and confidence and, without some embarrassment on his part, seen his pants get tighter and tighter and tighter. Now, Kurt is a very attractive young man who looks like the kind of guy Blaine will see in a Hollywood Johnny Depp film in five years and Blaine still looks twelve and still dresses like a grandpa.

“Hey, wake up, we’re here,” Chandler snaps his fingers in front of Blaine’s face, “It’s New Directions Tri-Weekly Bowling Saturday, remember? You get to ogle at his ass as he bowls!”

“I do not,” Blaine protests, “ _Ogle_  his ass.”

“Oh, no, sorry,” Chandler pulls up in the staff parking space, “You simply appreciate it. From a distance.”

“Exactly,” Blaine shoulders his bag and steps out, slipping a little on the ice, “Come on, or we’re going to be late.”

“And  _whose_  fault is that, huh?” Chandler runs after him, “The answer is yours, Anderson!”

Blaine ignores him, pushing open the front door of the bowling alley. It’s overwarm and he grimaces, tugging at the neck of his shirt. Maybe he shouldn’t have gone for the bowtie after all.

“Anderson, Kiehl! Hurry up!“

“Sorry, Mr. Fredrickson,” Blaine calls, and the alley’s owner storms over. “Kiehl, you’re behind the counter today. Anderson, you’re on table service.”

Blaine freezes up a little. “But – but Mr. Fredrickson –“

“No arguments, kid,” he usher them towards the food counter and hands them an apron each, “It’s that or nothing.”

Blaine sighs as he ties the apron behind his back and follows Chandler to his doom.

**

“Hey, Blaine, take these to table eight?” Chandler shoves the plates into Blaine’s waiting hands, “One hamburger, one plate of fries, one cheeseburger – hold the cheese.”

Blaine frowns. “Isn’t that just –“

“Just go along with it.”

Sighing, Blaine balances the burgers on one arm and holds the fries in the other hand, sliding past the people queuing to give their orders. Scanning the alleys, he identifies table eight and freezes.

“Chandler –“

“Not now, Bubbles!”

“But – I can’t take – I –“

“Anderson, put some pep in your step!” Fredrickson yells, “Get going!”

“Okay,” Blaine takes a breath, “Okay. Oookay. I can do this.”

He forces himself to start walking towards the spread of people taking up table eight, their raucous laughter and shouting becoming more and more oppressive the closer he gets.  _Half an hour until your shift ends and you can go home. You can do this_. “Um,” he swallows, “I, uh, I…”

Slowly, the talk dies down and he swallows again, inhaling deeply. “A – a hamburger, um, some fries and, ah, a cheeseburger but – but hold the cheese?”

“That’s me!” a blonde raises her hand, “Over here!”

“Um, okay,” Blaine hands her the plate and then holds up the hamburger, determinedly not looking around, “A, a hamburger?”

“Me,” a guy with a Mohawk lifts his hand and Blaine sets it down quickly, “And, um, the fries?”

“Just in the middle, thanks,” the Mohawk boy says, and Blaine puts it down and almost runs away.

Chandler gins at him as he returns. “How much do you love me right now, Bubbles?”

“He’s not there,” Blaine sighs, “I don’t know if I’m happy or not.”

“Well, that’s no reason to slack off,” Chandler shoves two more plates of fries and two pizzas at him, “Go on, dumbass.”

“Okay,” Blaine sighs, and rolls his shoulders, balancing the plates on his arms and nimbly avoiding two children chasing each other. This time the table is less nerve-wracking, now he knows Kurt isn’t there, and he manages to smile at the blonde with her cheese-less cheeseburger when he delivers his next set of plates.

“That it?” he asks, leaning his elbows on the counter, and Chandler shakes his head. “Kerry took the stuff for four, so there’s only this left.” He hands Blaine another two pepperoni pizzas and grins, “Hey, you might get lucky, you never know!”

“Shut up,” Blaine spins on one heel to stick his tongue out at Chandler, scrunching up his nose and then frowning when Chandler’s eyes go comically wide and he points enthusiastically.

Turning, his eyes lock on a familiar profile, his face turned sideways as he laughs. Blaine trips over his own feet, the plates flying from his hands as he slams into Kurt. Stumbling upright, he gasps “Oh my god – I’m so sorry –“

“Oh no,” a voice says, “Oh, this was McQueen.”

Blaine’s head snaps up and he feels his stomach flip uncomfortably. “Oh.”

Kurt grimaces at the mess on the front of his shirt and Blaine wants to curl up into a ball and disappear. The girl standing next to him snorts and then covers her mouth. “Oh man, he is going to  _kill_ you.”

“I –“ Blaine swallows hard, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you, I – I –“

He can feel his eyes stinging and he swallows hard, trying to gasp out another apology. A brunette from the table rushes up with a handful of napkins and starts dabbing at the tomato sauce. Blaine flounders helplessly, “I can – I’ll get you some water, or, um –“

“Hold on,” Kurt frowns, “Hey, you’re – you’re that guy from next door!”

“Oh, you’re dead now!” the girl laughs,

Blaine panics. And then he runs.

Chandler’s car is locked so he slumps against the door, shaking. He’s screwed it up now, he thinks shakily, of  _course_  he spills greasy food all over the one fashion sensitive gay boy in Lima who he might have a chance with. Shaking his head, he buries his face in his hands and tries really,  _really_  hard not to cry.

He sits there until his fingers and toes go numb, his face pressed into his knees. He wants to scream and cry and curl up into a ball until he disappears.

“Hey, Bubbles!”

“Hey Chandler,” he mumbles.

“Fredrickson says you can go home, lucky asshole.”

“He hates me. I know he hates me.”

“Oh,  _Bubbles_ ,” he feels Chandler settle next to him and hopes for a tenuous moment that he might be kind, “He really does. You should have seen his face.”

Blaine feels the lump in his throat get bigger. “But you know, there’s plenty of other fish!” Chandler continues, “I bet he doesn’t hate you  _that_  much, anyway. You could probably pay for another shirt!”

“Okay,” Blaine heaves a sigh and rubs his eyes, “I’m gonna go grab my bag and call Coop.”

“Okay!” Chandler chirps, “Have fun!”

Blaine takes the back route into the bowling alley and grabs his bag so he doesn’t have to face anyone. Cooper, unfortunately, is not home, so he pulls on his windbreaker and puts in his earbuds and sets off walking. Home is nearly an hour away and within twenty minutes his shoes are soaked through with snow, which only contributes to his melancholy mood. It’s getting dark and he glances across the street and decides that their side is probably a  _tiny_  bit less slushy.

He doesn’t even see the car that hits him.

He takes all of three steps into the road when suddenly his feet leave the ground and his head thumps against something cold. A screech echoes through the night and then his body smacks against the ground and he hears a high squeal, like tyres against a slippery road. The ground is cold and Blaine blinks drowsily and realises his earbuds have fallen out.

“Oh my god, oh my god, did you see that?”

“Did they just – run that guy down?”

“Oh god, is he okay?”

“I don’t think he’s moving.”

“Hey, kid. Hey, wake up! Talk to me!”

“No, don’t shake him! Sweetie, can you hear me? Open your eyes if you can hear me, okay?”

Blaine screws up his face and cracks open one eye, closes it quickly as the street light above them sends a spike of pain through his head. He wants to groan but his whole body  _hurts_ , his chest aching and his leg – he tries to shift it and his mind  _whites out_  with agony.

“Uh, hold on. I don’t think ankles are supposed to look like that, right?”

Blaine screws up his courage and starts to sit up, his ribs screaming in protest as he does so. Hands come to rest on his shoulders and push him back down. “Hey, hey, hey, buddy, no, don’t do that. Lay still.”

Blaine opens his mouth but all that comes out is a low moan of pain. He slumps back against the ground, his head spinning as the two people have a short but angry conversation above him. The last he remembers is the wail of sirens.

**

Kurt slumps against the windowsill and stares out into the Anderson’s back garden. Usually, by this time, their son is out, playing with his dog or just sitting on the porch swing, reading. Even in the cold, he ventures out, and Kurt had spent a blissful hour watching him heave and strain to make a snowman nearly twice his height (because seriously,  _dat ass_ ).

But the garden is empty, and he hasn’t seen him –  _is his name Blaine? He thinks it’s Blaine_  – in more than a week now.

“Maybe he’s ill,” he says out loud, “Maybe he’s ill in bed with a fever. Maybe he’s moved house. Maybe he’s dead.”

“Dude,” Finn says from the bed, “Morbid, much?”

Kurt sighs. “I just want to tell him – that I didn’t even care about the shirt, it was an ugly shirt, I only wore it to go with the equally as ugly shoes, but I just – his face,” he finishes miserably, “He looked like he was going to cry.”

“Pretty sure he was crying,” Finn turns back to the book which Kurt  _knows_  has a porn magazine in the middle, “His face was red as a tomato.”

“ _Finn_.”

“What? Dude, you literally just told me like, five minutes ago, not to lie to you because you ‘would know,’” he lifts his hands to make quote marks and inadvertently flashes Kurt the section of the magazine he’s ogling.

“One,” Kurt shoots him a glare, “Lying is not the same as bending the truth so as not to send my dreams of a whirlwind romance crashing. Two, get that filthy magazine off my bedspread.”

“Okay, okay,” Finn picks up the book, “Though that’s pretty rich, coming from Mr  _I keep my lube under my bed._ ”

Kurt feels his cheeks flame red. “You promised you would not bring up the personal lubrication incident.”

Finn rolls his eyes. “If you’re ever gonna get laid, you gotta call it –“

“Shut up!” Kurt hurls his pillow at Finn, cheeks burning, “You  _asshole_.”

“Hey, you could always ask that short blond dude who hangs around him all the time,” Finn turns the page of his magazine and whistles appreciatively, “Pretty sure they’re friends. Plus, y’know, we’re going bowling tonight, so…”

“Really?” Kurt whirls around, “You didn’t tell me that?”

“Yeah, I forgot,” Finn closes his magazine and checks the clock, “Oh man, we shoulda been there, like, ten minutes ago.”

“ _Finn_ ,” Kurt grabs him by the shoulders and pushes him out the door, “Go, go, I gotta get ready, you  _asshole_ , oh my god, he’s gonna hate me so much –“

**

Kurt’s outfit is a little hurried, but his striped shirt draws attention to the length of his throat and his jeans are not the tightest he owns but probably the nicest, a washed-out pale blue tucked into his favourite boots. He immediately regrets wearing them as soon as he has to slip his feet into the slippery bowling shoes, shuddering slightly. “ _Ew._ ”

“Dude, there he is,” Finn bumps their shoulders together and nods towards the blonde boy who’s now serving tables, “Go ask him.”

“Okay,” Kurt takes a deep breath, “Okay. I can do this.” And before he chickens out, he jumps up and strides across the length of the alley, tapping the boy’s shoulder briskly.

“Hey, what can I – hi, wow, okay, it’s you,” his eyes have gone very wide, “Um, what can I do for you?”

“Hi,” Kurt says awkwardly, “I’m Kurt, I just – I wanted to check if Blaine – the boy who spilled pizza on me –is okay? I haven’t seen him for a while…”

The boy’s mouth falls open. “Bubbles? You’re looking for Bubbles?”

Kurt arches an eyebrow. “Bubbles?”

“’Cause of his bubble butt,” the boy claps his hands, “Anyway! I’m Chandler, it is a pleasure to meet someone who can accessorize as well as you,” he grins, “Bubbles broke his leg, actually, so he’s out of work for a little while. You could probably find him in the Lima Bean, though – y’know, if you were  _really_ looking.”

“Great,” Kurt nods, “Okay. Thanks. Um, have a nice day?”

“You too,” Chandler calls after his retreating back, and Kurt makes his excuses to Finn and the rest and is in his car in less than five minutes.

The Lima Bean is only fifteen minutes away from the alley, says his SatNav, so he hits the accelerator and tries not to think about what he’ll do if Blaine isn’t there.

**

Blaine picks absent-mindedly at his muffin and wonders what on earth Chandler is talking about in his latest stream of texts. They mostly seem to contain a lot of key-smashing and strange autocorrects. He turns it upside down in case they make more sense.

**From: Chandler  
** **DFUCK BAKLINE  
** **BLAKINE GUESS HWO I JUST Sawyer  
** **HES SO BEATU BALINE BALIEN  
** **OMG U LUCKY mustard  
** **get some son aw yiss so pROUD**

Just then the door of the coffee shop is thrown open with a bang. Blaine glances up and immediately shrinks back in his seat as  _Kurt Hummel_  strides in, casting his eyes around hopefully and then desperately, before his shoulders slump and he turns towards the counter, muttering his order to the barista standing there.

Blaine hunches his shoulders and sits up to grab his coat, wondering if he can crutch himself out fast enough for Kurt not to notice him. Unfortunately, his elbow knocks the plate that holds his muffin and it crashes to the ground, drawing the attention of everyone in the shop.

Blaine ducks his head immediately, lowering himself to the floor awkwardly as he fumbles to pick up the shattered plate. A few seconds later, a barista appears with a dustpan and brush, helping Blaine back up onto his seat as he apologises and wrings his hands, unable to help.

“I’m so sorry, my coat, I was just – here, let me help you, I really didn’t mean to, I – I can pay for a new one, I’m really sorry –“

“It’s fine, sir,” she says begrudgingly, “Really, don’t worry, okay?”

Blaine flounders helplessly and then slumps back in his chair as she sweeps up the last of the mess and disappears into the back of the shop, still looking disgruntled. Blaine sighs and drops his face into his hands, feeling very much like curling up into a ball and dying quietly.

“Hey.”

Blaine’s head snaps up and his mouth falls open. Kurt is standing in front of him, holding a replacement muffin and a cup of coffee. His lips twitch up into a hesitant smile. “Um, I – the barista, he said you were eating a blueberry muffin, so I – here.”

Blaine moves his lips but nothing comes out.  Kurt’s cheeks flush a pale pink. “Is it okay if I sit here?”

Blaine nods silently.

Kurt places the muffin on the table and smiles hopefully. “So, uh, how are you? I heard about your leg from Chandler at the bowling alley.”

Blaine glances down at the blue cast poking out from the end of his sweatpants. “I – um, I’m okay. Y-you?”

He doesn’t quite hear Kurt’s reply, too busy quietly freaking out about the fact that Kurt  _sought him out_  and  _bought him a muffin_. He only snaps out of it when Kurt says “So, can we talk about the other day? With the pizza?”

Blaine feels his euphoria crash and burn. “I am – I am so sorry about that, I have – I can pay for another, if you want, I really am so sorry –“

“Hey, no,” Kurt grabs his hand where it’s resting on the table and Blaine freezes “I don’t care, seriously, I wasn’t bothered, tomato sauce comes out. I just wanted to – okay, I just.” He takes a deep breath and bites his lip. Blaine clears his throat but his mouth is to dry to say anything.

“Iwantedtoknowifyou’dgoonadatewithme,” Kurt blurts.

“What?” Blaine says.

“Oh god, you’re not gay, are you,” Kurt pushes his chair back and grabs his coffee, “I’m so sorry, I’ll let you be, I’m really sorry. Um, have a nice day.”

He’s nearly made it to the door before Blaine gets himself together enough to call “Kurt, wait!”

Kurt pauses and then turns to look back at him, and Blaine jerks his head in what he hopes is interpreted as a  _come here_  signal. Slowly, Kurt returns to their table and settles back into his seat.

“Okay,” Blaine takes a deep breath, “I am gay.”

“Oh thank god,” Kurt breathes and then laughs, shaking his head, “It would have gotten very awkward if you weren’t.”

Blaine smiles at that, ducking his head and glancing up at Kurt. Kurt blinks and then smiles easily. “So, what do you say?”

“To what?” Blaine asks, confused.

“To going on a date with me,” Kurt says hopefully, “Maybe to Breadstix or something?”

Blaine’s mouth opens and closes before he manages to stutter out “Yes, oh my gosh, I –  _yes_. I would love to go on a date with you, Kurt.” He holds the name in his mouth like it’s precious, clinging to this moment in case it ends abruptly.

“Great!” Kurt rocks back in his chair and claps, “Tomorrow, then? I’ll pick you up at seven?”

Blaine feels a grin spreading across his face. “Yeah. Yeah, that’d be amazing.”

Kurt reaches out for his hand again, and this time Blaine squeezes back, his eyes crinkling up with the force of his smile.


End file.
